Lost Voice
by Ikabikaboo
Summary: What if being the Dragonborn isn't all it's meant to be? Enter Lydia, the loyal housecarl as she and her Thane unravel the conspiracy and lies behind being a fabled hero. rated M for violence and Lemons/limes in later chaps. LydiaxM!Dragonborn (Being Updated slowly but surely)
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for waiting patiently for this rewrite. I kind of gutted it with the same plot but I did change quite few things. **

**I also have one of my good friends acting as my Beta so hopefully there won't be any grammatical errors. I guess the reason this was so delayed is because of Finals... ugh **

**Anyway the next one will probably be up by next week or so... anyway enough of my blathering!**

**-Enjoy**

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><p>Lydia stared upwards, vision fuzzy and head throbbing. She let out a deep groan. It felt like the worst hangover she had ever had, times ten. She reached up to feel her head but found she couldn't move her arm. She let out another groan as the sharp pain behind her eyes increased. Where was she?<p>

A new sound met her ears, the sounds of shuffling feet. Lydia managed to turn her head to the side. Her vision was beginning to clear, and she could make out the rough outline of a person clad in yellow robes. As said person grew closer she recognized the face; Danica Pure-Spring.

"Oh! You're awake!" Danica exclaimed, rushing over to her.

"Where…where am I?" Lydia groaned, trying in vain to move her limbs. Her vision was getting steadily clearer and she could now make out the look of concern on Danica's face.

The priestess reached in to the recesses of her robes and pulled out a small, green vial. "You're in the temple of Kyraneth." She uncorked the vial and sniffed it. "You're lucky to have made it. We found you at the western watchtower with two broken ribs, a fractured tibia, and some internal bleeding, not to mention that huge gash on your right leg."

"Western Watchtower?" Lydia rubbed her eyes.

"I suppose you wouldn't remember much of it." The priestess lamented. She put the contents of the vial onto a strip of clean linen. "We had to sedate you; while we were trying to stich up your leg you decked one of my trainees."

"I'm sorry." Lydia rolled her head over towards the window adjacent to where she was lying. In the glass's reflection, she looked like a complete wreck. Her black hair was disheveled and her face was sullen with exhaustion.

"Don't worry about it," Danica assured her, beginning to wrap her leg in the medicine-soaked bandage, "he'll be fine."

Lydia hissed. Whatever the healer was applying, it stung.

"A tonic made from lavender and distilled frostbite venom." Danica explained, tying off the bandage. "The lavender will help with the healing process and the venom will kill any infections."

Lydia's mind, still foggy with the effects of the priestess's sedative, sluggishly tried to remember what happened. She did recall fire, and lots of it. She had been knocked to the ground by someone…

_Wait… _

Not someone...some_thing_. She glanced back at Danica, who was applying a restoration spell to a wounded guard. What had happened? The female Nord grumbled to herself, the bits and pieces of last night's memory seemed to slip through the cracks. Teeth, wings, and…_what_? The last bit, the most important part was buried deep within her subconscious. Danica was checking up on her again, prodding and poking. There was a word…she was almost a hundred percent sure of that.

"Danica?"

"Hm?"

"What exactly happened at the watchtower last night?"

"History, my dear." The disciple of Kyraneth replied. "After all these years the Dragonborn has finally risen. It brings a tear to my eye to know that the old myths I grew up listening to are true."

_Dragonborn…_

Lydia's eyes widened as it all came back in a flash.

"Fus…"

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><p>The dragon had acid-green scales and the brightest yellow eyes she had ever seen. Its maw stank of sulfur and rotting meat and its long, bumpy tongue slithered between its vile lips. It spoke, but not in any tongue Lydia was familiar with. Suddenly, it roared, a sound that almost knocked her to the ground. After a childhood of listening to her grandfather's wild tales of dragons, she was face-to-face with one.<p>

She was absolutely terrified.

Lydia rushed forward, sword out, releasing a Nordic battle cry, despite her fear. The Dragon seemed to smirk and took to the sky, not to be bothered by such a waif of a meal. Anger swelled in her chest as the winged behemoth headed for the western watchtower.

Not half a moment later a new sound filled her ears. It was a group of hardy-looking soldiers bellowing a battle cry led by the dark elf Irileth. Not one to be left out of any action, Lydia quickly joined their party, eager to spill dragon's blood.

When they finally arrived at the western watchtower the dragon was wreaking absolute chaos. It had destroyed a good portion of the battlement and put a gaping hole in the wall. Large fires burned all around, while farmers and terrified guards fled for their lives. The dragon was resting on the top of the tower, munching on a mangled corpse.

"By the Divines…" Irileth murmured, drawing her Elven bow. "FIRE!" The archers wasted no time releasing a storm of steel-pointed arrows at the dragon. About half hit the intended target and a quarter stuck in its scaly hide. The beast bellowed in rage, dropping its gory snack. "FIRE!" Irileth commanded, loosening another arrow at the monster.

Her order was followed quickly as more arrows flew, dead set on piercing the dragon's scales. At the last moment, however, the dragon flapped its wings, deflecting the projectiles. It left its roost and took to the skies.

"Bring him down!" Irileth bellowed, her rage almost matching that of her aerial adversary. She had put away her bow and in its place held a small sphere of crackling electricity. "Come at me, _dragon_!" A bolt of lightning fired from her outstretched palm and struck the moving monster. The pain clearly showed, as its flight pattern wavered slightly. Irileth was playing a dangerous game. Egging on a dragon was risky business. Suddenly, the behemoth made a sharp left turn and rushed at Irileth and her group of archers, hatred for the dark elf burning in its amber eyes.

The archers fired several volleys of arrows, all hitting their mark as the dragon flew steadily closer. Irileth got in some pretty powerful strikes with her destruction spell but they were becoming less effective. Her magicka was beginning to wane.

In one final burst of speed, the dragon's outstretched talons snatched Irileth off the ground and began to fly away. Everyone seemed to freeze as they saw the two climb steadily higher. Irileth, never one to waste an opportunity, quickly stabbed the dragon in quick succession with her orcish dagger.

Roaring in pain, the dragon released its grip, sending Irileth plummeting like a stone, screaming obscenities all the way down. She collided with the ground with a gut-wrenching splat, head shattering like an egg on impact.

Instead of mourning her death, the soldiers did what any Nord would do. Screaming in unison, they released arrows with much more ferocity than before, as if Irileth was behind them yelling _"That's the best you can do?"_ The dragon had incurred the wrath of men who respected Irileth completely, despite her being an elven woman.

The dragon released several plumes of fire at the enraged archers before eventually plummeting to the ground. It rose shakily, head held high despite its obvious wounds. The arrows in its hide stuck out like a porcupine's quills.

Lydia and the others charged, steel and iron weapons flashing in the moonlight. The Dragon belched a sulfurous stream of fire, roasting two men alive and severely burning another. While it was trying to recover everyone swarmed it, swords slashing, ensuring that it would not live long.

Moving to land a harsh blow into its lower hide, Lydia felt herself go flying as the dragon's tail slammed into her gut. She landed hard, steel armor doing little to soften the landing. She could hardly utter a sound, the pain was so intense.

Rising slowly, Lydia ran forward once more half-limping, not letting the Dragon fell her so easily. She drove a blow into one of its lower legs and the dragon retaliated by tearing open her leg. Screaming, she fell, digging her sword in the ground to support her.

_This could be the end…_

Another battle cry rang out, one louder than the rest. It was a man; rushing forward with such speed Lydia couldn't believe he was wearing steel armor. Screaming, he leapt, quite a feat in his heavy armor, with his greatsword raised to strike. The others watched in awe as he drove the sword clean into the dragon's snout.

The beast roared and snapped at him, but in its severely weakened state only the man's steel armor felt it. He pulled the two-handed weapon out, and in one fluid motion thrust it between the dragon's eyes. The creature gave one final cry before it fell down, dead.

For a moment no one moved, amazed by what they had seen. As one they cheered for the man who had single-handedly finished the dragon. The savior himself seemed extremely confused and dazed, like someone who had woke up from a long dream.

Suddenly, the dragon stirred. Everyone recoiled, fearing some type of hex. Instead, the dragon's skin grew black and flakey, like burnt paper. The flakes blew away in the wind, leaving only an ivory skeleton behind. In a flash of iridescent colors, several streams of light flowed from the dragon's cadaver, reaching out and cocooning the dragon slayer in rippling rainbow colors.

When it was over the guards stood, thunderstruck. Finally, one spoke up.

"I-I can't believe it! You're…a Dragonborn!"

"Dragonborn?" the man replied, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden attention.

"Y-you absorbed its soul, right? Isn't that what you just did?" The guard asked, ignoring the slayer's obvious confusion.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The man responded flatly, taking a tentative step back.

"The Dragonborn is said to have the power to devour the souls of dead dragons! That's what you did, exactly how the old texts describe it!" he exclaimed.

"I'm not really…"

"Humor me, at least!" The guard pleaded. "If you truly are a Dragonborn you should be able to shout. At least try!"

The man fidgeted slightly, desperately searching for a reason to be out of the spotlight. "But I don't know any words of power. I wouldn't be able to form a Shout, even if I wanted to."

"Maybe you don't need to. Maybe it's something that's been inside you your whole life." When it was clear the guard was not going to back down, the slayer slumped his shoulders in resignation.

"All right, fine, I'll try." The man squared his stance and faced away from the eager crowd. There was a long pause and the guards looked on expectantly. Just when everyone was sure this was all a mistake, he parted his lips and let out a single word.

"FUS!"

It wasn't very strong, only ruffling the grass and kicking up a cloud of dirt. But it was a word of power, a shout, a Thu'um. The crowd roared in approval, bellowing "The Dragonborn Comes!"

Lydia could feel darkness beginning to pull at the edges of her vision. The leg wound had caused her to lose a lot of blood. Just before Lydia succumbed to the blackness, she couldn't help but think it was an honor to stand in the presence of the fabled Dragonborn…

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><p>"Lydia!"<p>

The warrior jumped, snapped out of her thoughts. "Sorry Danica, I zoned out."

Danica frowned with concern. "Do you think you can stand?"

"I'll try my best."

Shouldering some of her weight, Danica helped Lydia stand, a bit of a chore considering the slashed leg. Somehow Lydia managed, biting back the pain.

"I'm going to give you a final restoration spell that should clear up the rest of the injuries."

Lydia nodded.

The priestess raised her hands above her head and a golden ball of light formed, glimmering with a warm, ethereal glow. Golden swirls of restorative energy wrapped around Lydia, caressing her with its warmth. She felt the pain in her arms and chest fade and the tiredness of her muscles dissipate. In two and a half minutes, Lydia felt brand new.

"I could probably go straight back to work now," Lydia said, stretching her newly rejuvenated muscles, "but maybe I can convince the captain to give me a little break."

Suddenly, a guard burst into the Temple of Kyraneth.

"The Jarl wants to see you immediately!"

_Guess not._

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><p><strong>Like, Favorite and above all REVIEW so I know what you guys think! See you next chapter.<strong>_  
><em>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: WHOO that's right bitches! I'm back I am FINALLY going to start updating this story, sorry for all of you that had to wait so dam long. Just a warning however, updates for this story are going to be all over the place but it will be finished! Anyway I'll let you read now.**

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><p>Akatosh was high overhead, blazing a bright yellow on the pale blue of the afternoon sky. Large puffy, white clouds floated serenely, with no intention of bringing rain. It seemed that Kyraneth was in the favor of mortals this day. Lydia couldn't help but marvel at how easily she could move her limbs. Danica surely knew her stuff. Before leaving the Temple she had made sure that she was wearing her full battle armor, as was customary when greeting the Jarl. Lydia wished she would have time to polish it but if the Jarl required her now, she would do so. Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was not a man to be kept waiting.<p>

Despite the fact that there was a dragon attack last night Whiterun was already back to its usual busy self. In the market square one could easily hear the merchants as they hollered bargains and prices at potential customers. Far off in the distance Lydia could just make out the resonating bang of Eorlund Gray-Mane's hammer, tirelessly shaping steel at the Skyforge.

Soon, Lydia and her companion began to tedious climb up the stone steps of Dragonsreach. Lydia silently grumbled to herself about how the Jarl should find time to install a more convenient means to enter Dragonsreach. After about three minutes the two Nords had reached the grand oak doors of the castle.

"Good luck" the guard stated, turning to go back down.

Suddenly, Lydia felt very nervous. _What could he possibly want with me? _She had only been addressed by Balgruuf twice and that was after she, and a few more members of the Whiterun guard, had cleared out a bandit hideout. His thanks were gruff and brief as he had other duties to attend to. Each person was rewarded with a generous amount of gold for their efforts.

Lydia decided it couldn't be anything major. After all it wasn't as if she had slain a dragon. She allowed herself to laugh, before pushing open the great wooden doors.

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><p>Even though Lydia had been inside of Dragonsreach on several occasions each time the architecture was still as impressive as ever. The great central hall had a large arced ceiling made of polished oak. The pillars that supported the roof were also oak and free of dust or grime. There were five steps leading up to a raised part of the floor were two long tables stood filled with choice cuts of meat and assorted vegetables. Between the two tables a large blazing heart gave off warm and inviting glow. A feast was in progress but no one seemed to be very interested in the food. All those in attendance were gathered around the Jarl's throne.<p>

Even though there was a crowd of the pompous and wealthy Lydia could easily make out what the object of desire was. It was person, and he towered above those who surrounded him. He was a Nord, by all rights, and an extremely tall one at that. As Lydia walked closer the face slowly became familiar to her. He was also clad in steel armor. It was him! The man from last night, the Dragonborn!

Suddenly excitement and fear fluttered in her chest. If the Dragonborn was here what did that mean for her? Or was this just a coincidence?

Lydia slowly walked past the hearth, still unsure of her purpose in being here. She cast another glance at the Dragonborn and the eager crowd of nobles that surrounded him. He clearly did not want to be surrounded by so many people. He looked extremely uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot and a forced smile plastered onto his face. Without even meaning to Lydia could pick up snippets of their conversation.

"It would be an _honor_ to have The Dragonborn in our family…"

"My daughter is the prettiest in Whiterun…"

"My little girl would be just _perfect _for you…"

Lydia snorted. _Typical noblemen_. Already selling their daughters into marriage in the hopes of accommodating more power. The Dragonborn nodded every so often and politely declined their marriage proposals. One particular excited noblewoman attached herself to the Dragonborn's arm and squealed at him in an obnoxiously high-pitched voice. He appeared happy on the exterior but just beneath the surface a storm was building. Lydia could tell by his eyes that he extremely close to just turning around and never coming back.

Finally her presence became aware by Hrongar, Jarl Balgruuf's brother. He was most likely going to serve as the active housecarl after Irileth's untimely demise.

"Brother" Hrongar stated gruffly, grabbing the Jarl's attention. Balgruuf had been looking at the dragonborn and the crowd of nobles that surrounded him with little interest. "Lydia is here, at your request."

The Jarl rose and called to the Dragonborn who looked at him gratefully. Balgruuf shooed the nobles away who grudgingly returned to their seats and began to eat their food. Then he cast the Dragonborn a sympathetic look. Balgruuf was obviously familiar with having to deal with the same thing every day. Petty nobles all squabbling for the Jarl's attention. The one noblewoman who had previously been attached to the Dragonborn's arm turned and gave him a wink. She giggled; sure she had won his affections. If only she could see the pained expression he wore when her back was turned.

"Marculf" Balgruuf said, addressing the Dragonborn. Said person quickly focused his attention to the Jarl. It was now that Lydia got a good look at the dragonborn's face. As stated before, he was tall and even had five inches on Balgruuf who was considered tall by Nord standards. His face was slightly weather beaten and he obviously hadn't slept well the night before, the bags beneath his eyes a dead giveaway. His brown hair was cut short and a scar started at the corner of his left eye and ran down his cheek. The eyes themselves were bright blue. "You're a Thane and I'm sure you know what that must mean."

_Thane?! _Lydia thought, surprised. But the more she thought about it the less surprising it became. Marculf did save Whiterun from the dragon not to mention the fact he was a _Dragonborn_. Those two reasons alone were enough for any Jarl to claim a new Thane. As for Marculf he didn't seem all too pleased with his new title. This too, was a surprise. Anyone Lydia knew would jump at the chance to be a Thane. But the stormy look on Marculf's face was anything but joy.

"With your new title you'll earn a new degree of respect. I will have Hrongar inform the guards of your new social standing. Wouldn't want them thinking you're part of the common rabble eh?"

Marculf nodded, but only half-heartedly.

"Also, I'm assigning Lydia to be your personal housecarl."

Lydia froze.

_I'm assigning Lydia to be your personal housecarl._

The startled Nord woman replayed what she had heard, twice just to be sure.

_I'm assigning Lydia to be your personal housecarl._

_Me? A housecarl?_

Lydia couldn't help but wonder if Balgruuf had realized what he had just said. As jarl he had the power to make such decisions, but she would've liked a little warning. With that simple statement, Lydia was now bound into a life-long contract of duty. Normally housecarls underwent a three-year training period to serve their master as faithfully as possible. No one had really been selected, as every guard member was needed in keeping Whiterun safe from bandits and the rebellious Stormcloaks. She was now honor-sworn to protect a man she barely knew with her life.

Marculf didn't seem too thrilled with having a servant either. He turned to look at her, his stare was intense. Lydia stared right back at him trying her best to stand tall. After the few brief seconds of awkward silence both turned their heads to the Jarl.

"Jarl Balgruuf I was flattered when you gave me the title of Thane, but this is too much."

"Nonsense, it is traditional for a Thane to have an active housecarl."

"Yes but…"

Marculf never got to finish.

Right at that moment something happened. Something unexpected. The very foundation of Dragonsreach and the rest of Whiterun shook as raw power surged in tremors throughout the ground. The party guests screamed and covered their heads as pieces of debris rained from the ceiling. The chandelier fell upon one of the tables, smashing it. It was sound, pure undulating waves of it. All of the power and wrath of it built up to one and final word "DOVAHKIIN!"

The word rolled through all of them, inside of them echoing in their souls. It was as f Nirn itself was shuddering in awe of the noise. The strange word, "Dovahkiin" still rang throughout the land and finally faded, thundering away into the distant mountains. Then all was quiet. Not a single sound could be heard minus the ragged breathing of the startled party guests.

The tranquility was broken as the ornate dragon's skull that sat behind the Jarl's throne fell shattering upon the ground. A feat that, Lydia thought, was nigh impossible. Ancient dragon bones, stronger than steel, breaking like nothing more than brittle glass. Jarl Balgruuf seemed the most disturbed by this. He had no doubt treasured the ancient piece which now lay in shambles upon the floor.

"What in Arkay's name was that?!" Marculf exclaimed, blues eyes darting about the dining hall.

Balgruuf took only a moment to consider before finally stating: "Graybeards." At the mention of their name Hrongar bowed his head in respect. Lydia could easily remember the tales her grandfather used to tell about mute monks who lived at the Throat of the World and could bend time and space using only their voice.

Marculf seemed familiar with them as well, as he didn't ask any more questions except one: "Well what would the Graybeards want with me?"

"I believe they are summoning you." The Jarl answered, leaning back in his chair. "They must want you to go to High Hrothgar. It would only make sense, as they are masters of the Way of the Voice and no doubt wish to train you to master the Thu'um."

Marculf's brow creased in thought.

At seeing his uneasy expression Balgruuf leaned forward. "The Graybeards only want to help, they are pacifists by nature and it would be ruse to refuse their summons."

After a moment of hesitation Marculf nodded. "Very well then I'll make my journey to the Throat of the World." Without even so much as a word towards Lydia the Dragonborn strode out of Dragonsreach, his newly-appointed housecarl dashing to catch up to him.

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><p><strong>AN: The next update will be in the next two weeks or so so be patient! Again a big sorry to all of my lovely readers but I'll do my best to stay on top of writing! I know this isn't the longest of chapters but it would be much too long if I didn't cut it off there...so yea, you know the drill make sure to review and tell me what you think! **


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